


You're Not A Monster

by Thisisarealtagwhy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Fic, Aftermath of Possession, Aftermath of Torture, Canonical Character Death, Comfort Food, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Derek, Hurt Everyone, Hurt Isaac, Hurt Kira Yukimura, Hurt Liam, Hurt Scott, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, McCall Pack, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Please Help Scott McCall, Post-Episode: s03e01 Tattoo, Post-Episode: s03e07 Currents, Post-Episode: s05e10 Status Asthmaticus, Post-Season/Series 03B, Post-Season/Series 05, Post-Season/Series 06, Romance, Scott finally watches Star Wars, Self-Hatred, Somewhere after there, The Dread Doctors, You're not a monster, you're a werewolf like me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 09:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thisisarealtagwhy/pseuds/Thisisarealtagwhy
Summary: "You're not a monster, you're a werewolf, like me." Despite how creative he has become over the years with the words, the fundamental truth is that none of them are monsters, will never be the things people like to pretend they are.Or; 5 Times Scott McCall Said, "You're not a monster".





	1. Isaac

**Author's Note:**

> First off! All of this is written out so don't worry bout me not updating it ever.  
> Secondly, i really liked that moment in season 4 so i expanded on it exponentially, but mostly by considering, what if this wasn't the first time he said it?  
> Thirdly, thank you again to MasterQwertster for betaing despite not having seen Teen Wolf!

_1._

Once upon a time, Scott wouldn’t have been astute enough to pay attention to the little things. Back before he got the bite, he and Stiles had stuck out like sore thumbs but drifted to the back of people’s minds.

They hadn’t been worth paying attention to, but at the same time, they tried hard enough that they stuck out to people. It was partly why Jackson had been such an insufferable dick to the pair of them.

So no, he hadn’t noticed the little things, like the way Lydia Martin managed to ace every test and remain as dumb as a rock. How Jackson Whittemore had sometimes zoned out of _everything,_ as if he was questioning his very existence.

The only person he’d been attuned to had been Stiles, his best friend, the only one that was willing to play with him.

It’d probably been because his family wasn’t very well off.

Even with Rafael (he refused to call him Dad ever since he had been slapped brutally) as an FBI agent, he got jack with a heaping pile of shit when it came to money. Any that he _did_ make went straight to liquor to drown himself in.

And then they had pitched in to try and help Claudia Stilinski pay off her hospital bills, because they weren’t just gonna let the Stilinski’s down.

He hadn’t noticed the little and yet huge bruises on Isaac Lahey, even though it could have been, _would have been,_ the only thing that saved him. He hadn’t payed attention to the wallflower, Boyd, who took stock of everyone whilst not drawing attention to himself, it was safer that way. He hadn’t really watched little Erica suffer through her seizures and depression.

So, he watches as Isaac slowly withdraws into himself, finding more excuses to stay out in the late, dark recesses of the night instead of coming home with him. He’s not gonna lie, he’s considering just stalking Isaac, but he thinks that that would be too much of an invasion of privacy.

There are some things that they _have_ to deal with on their own.

Well, Isaac _did_ see Erica dead, and forgot about that, being tortured by the Alpha pack. Scott thinks they’re lucky that he’s not insane right now.

And he really gets his answer half-way through the night. Scott has always been a light sleeper since The Bite, he can’t sleep fully when there could be a threat to everyone sitting out there, waiting for them to let their guard down.

It’s tiring but he supposes that that’s the price of safety.

So, when he hears Isaac stir in the other room, groaning and the beginnings of tears thundering across the room, Scott doesn’t hesitate.

He’s in the room, watching Isaac twist and turn in his sheets uncomfortably. “Isaac.”

It’s not enough, “Isaac!”

“No! Leave me alone!” Isaac yells desperately, trying to shove Scott off.

“It’s okay Isaac! You’re okay!” He’s yelling but it’s finally enough to pull Isaac out of his hellish dream. He sits up with a silent roar, eyes glowing yellow, fangs and claws unsheathed.

“Scott?” And no, he should _not_ sound so sad, so desperate.

“Are you okay?” It’s a dumb question, but Isaac slowly shakes his head anyway.

“He… he…”

“Come on, Isaac.” And Scott lofts the other teen over his shoulder.

He sets him down on the couch downstairs and flicks on the TV. He doubts there would be anything worth interest on there right now, but that’s okay as he does it for the static sound.

 He makes tea for them both. Stiles had relentlessly teased him when Scott made him sencha tea with honey, calling him a girl. It wasn’t supposed to hurt and it hadn’t, it’s just that it makes him smile every time the smell hits his nose.

“Isaac.” He presses the warm mug into his friend’s hands. He’s already called Boyd, because Boyd is from the same mould as Isaac. Sure he’s dealt with the breakdowns Stiles sometimes suffers, but they’re of a different cloth than Isaac.

In the quiet and in between of school they’d stayed in each other’s embrace because sometimes memories can be dealt with _together._ And he refuses to believe that they will be irreparable.

There’s a sudden light knock at the door and Isaac freezes, like a deer in the headlights of an incoming car.

“It’s only Boyd.” He reassures the shaking human lump.

“Scott, I came as soon as you called.” He can tell from the Avengers pyjamas and the bomber jacket hastily pulled over the top.

“Isaac, see? Only Boyd.” He says again, patting the lounge for Boyd to join them.

“I-I’m a monster, that’s what _he_ called me.” Isaac says shaking so much that Boyd plucks the tea out of his grasp before he can drop it.

“Isaac, look at- _look at me,_ ” It’s said with the commandment of an alpha and Isaac’s eyes turn gold once more, Scott knows that his are bleeding red, but he can’t accept it right now, “You’re not a monster Isaac, you’re a werewolf, like me, like Boyd, like Cora, like _Derek._ ”

Slowly, Isaac’s shaking recedes and he hugs Scott tightly. Boyd joins in with minimal persuasion, but after the pair turn to him, Boyd whispers, “Your eyes, Scott, they were red.”

He flashes them again, but they’re simple gold once more and the other pair of werewolves unintentionally relax.

They’ll figure it out later when it comes to Darach’s and potential sacrifices and mountain ash circles.


	2. Derek

_ 2. _

Derek is still kneeling there. Usually, Scott would leave the man to his own devices, but he isn’t overly confident that he will be fine on his own.

“You can go, I’ll take it from here.” Scott murmurs to Stiles and Mrs. Blake.

“I don’t think you’re well equipped to deal with this.” Mrs. Blake replies hotly, Scott doesn’t like her, there’s just… something _off_ about her. That and the feeling of death that surrounds her, akin to the grim reaper.

“Scotty’s got this.” Stiles gives him a grim pat on the shoulder. Sure, he had been the one to try and comfort Derek, but it was clear he was banking on the fact that Scott was a werewolf and he a human.

Mrs Blake allows herself to be steered out of the loft by Stiles with a promise to take her home. 

‘Good luck’ Stiles mouths over his shoulder.

Scott gives a nod. There’s only so much he will be able to do for Derek, the rest will happen on its’ own. 

The loft is a wreck, full of water and the scent of blood invades Scott’s nose as an unkind visitor. He… he should’ve been here. Dr Deaton would have been saved by Stiles’ Dad and Boyd… oh god, Boyd.

Boyd who had been a loner at school, sticking to the wall like a moth, keeping eyes on the gossip and people as they paid him little attention.

There had been a time when _he_ had been the hot goss. A boy who moved here halfway through term? Sticking by himself? The students dug into him like hungry maggots, feasting on the dying flesh of his soul. 

Blood and water have soaked Derek’s undoubtedly expensive jeans and he simply looks down at his claws which have yet to retract. Scott won’t lie, he remembers times when he wanted to drag something down his wrists, but he could not, _would not,_ do that to his Mum and Stiles.

His two rocks, so he would be Derek’s rock if he needed to be.

Derek looks up with that forlorn, lost expression so _incongruous_ with the man’s usually stoic face, and Scott feels an organ within him both burn with rage and grief for those they have lost.

“Come on Derek.” He murmurs softly, hauling the man up. It’s not an easy job, even as a werewolf he feels a strain from Derek’s sheer weight.

Derek doesn’t make his task any easier as his own wet clothes soak into Scott’s. 

Scott manages to make it to the man’s bathroom where he lays out a few of the towels on the floor, “Come on, have a bath, Derek.” 

He’s not overly confident that he would actually bathe Derek himself. It’s a line that he’s pretty sure he’s not willing to cross. Yes, he and Stiles shared baths and after the whole nearly-set-myself-on-fire-with-gasoline debacle, his best friend _had_ put him in a bath. But that was as much for himself as it was Scott.

“I-I killed him, I killed Boyd.” Derek says, still looking down at his claws like he will magically be back in the moment when Boyd was forced onto his claws.

Scott doesn’t think that Derek can handle a shower, so he draws a bath, “It’s okay, Derek.”

“It’s not okay, Scott.” He says, acknowledging _who_ was there, for the first time.

“You’re right, it’s not, but it will be, eventually.” He can’t speak from experience really. His family are all alive. There isn’t anyone to miss, and certainly not anyone in such a gruesome and gory manor.

There was Claudia, Stiles’ mum, but he’d been too young and too naïve to realise what long gone meant.  

But his mother would sometimes come home from the hospital and cry over a patient lost during complications. It didn’t happen very often, but enough that Scott had a method to tackle her seemingly bottomless grief.

The best thing for those long nights were to cook her dinner and wrap her in enough blankets to make a human sushi. 

He doubts Derek would allow him to do that. He might appreciate some food though.

Everyone deals with grief differently. His mother drilled that into him when he was young. She also said that it was fine to be sad, but when it extended over a long period of time, it was unhealthy.

So, he gets to cooking with the limited ingredients in the Loft, (yes, in his opinion, that requires a capital). There’s little fresh food, but there’s eggs and cheese, so he gets to making omelettes. 

And he finds hot chocolate hidden away in the pantry. He can’t tell whether that’s from Derek or Cora, but either way, he capitalises on it, adding it to the warm pan of milk. 

He hears the water splash and neatly folds a few towels he finds in the hidden cupboard near the kitchen next to the door.

Derek looks a little better now that he’s not soaked in water and blood, dressed in old sweats and a stained grey shirt.

“Here.” He presses the offered food into the man’s hands.

Derek takes tentative bites and slowly finishes it off. “It’s good.”

Scott beams.

“You don’t need to stay, Scott.” Derek says, finishing off the hot chocolate, he _does_ look marginally better, but Scott is no stranger to the attacks during the night when you let your guard down.

So he shakes his head, “Is the couch free?”

Derek shakes his head, “You _really_ don’t need to, Cora will probably return.”

Scott shrugs, “I know.”

The older man sighs and says, “Yeah, the couch is free.”

To be precise, Scott is woken up at least twice during the night by hoarse cries, it’s during the third time that Derek wakes, unseeing, claws unsheathed, when he says, as soft as a whisper, “I’m a monster.”

Scott shakes him until his eyes focus on Scott and says firmly, “Derek Hale, you listen to me. You’re not a monster, you’re a werewolf, like me.”

And Derek finally cries, messy and wet, right into Scott’s shoulder.

Scott reassures him until the man falls asleep. Derek doesn’t wake up anymore during that night. 

In the morning, he leaves with a hug and a promise that Derek’ll be okay.

And he is, for the most part.


	3. Stiles

_3._

Scott knows that the nogitsune had a profound mental impact on Stiles as a person, as a human being.

And not just because he had been the one to hurt his friends, but rather because it was _a literal fucking demon inside of him._

No, nothing’s okay. He’s still trying to reconcile with the fact that his first lover is… _dead_. And Chris and Isaac have left and _nothing_ will ever be alright again.

But he hasn’t seen Stiles in a couple of days, so he finds himself walking to Stiles’ house. He knows that while his Dad obviously loves him, he _has_ to work.

Otherwise they’ll drown in debt. Scott knows it, Stiles knows it, everyone knows it.

So he finds himself wandering around the streets late at night. He doesn’t really care too much for his own wellbeing, but he also knows that if something _were_ to attack him, he wouldn’t be opposed to killing, to bathe in the blood of whatever creature it is.

Eventually Stiles’ house comes into sight and when he can smell and hear his best friend, he can breathe a little easier. He can also smell Malia in there. She has been readjusting to life as a human and not a coyote.

He knocks instead of barging in like he would usually do. He doesn’t want to overstep boundaries when his best friend is still reeling over the loss of both a friend and himself.

Malia appears at the door saying over her shoulder, “It’s Scott.”

He eases himself through the doorway, feeling stupidly out of place even as he sees frames of himself and Stiles lining the walls.

“Scott.” And Stiles hugs him, hugs him tighter than what would be necessary and Scott hugs back.

“Stiles.” And it feels like the floodgates have opened up from the inside and he begins to cry into Stiles’ back. He feels his own shirt dampening as well, so he begins to move them to Stiles’ comfortable couch.

“Scotty, I’m so, so _sorry_.” Stiles sobs out, pawing at Scott’s muscled arms.

“It’s okay Stiles, it’s really not your fault.” He means it. His friend can’t be held accountable for the shit that went down as a result of the nogitsune.

Stiles’ face is still unhealthily pale, and Scott has no doubts that he hasn’t been sleeping. Scott knows because he hasn’t either. Every time he closes his eyes he sees _her_ and _Stiles,_ except it’s not Stiles, rather the husk of his friend.

But he can’t be worrying for himself. He has another friend to look after, one that hasn’t been looking after _himself,_ and besides, he doubts that Malia knows many recipes, let alone _how_ to correctly use all the appliances.

“Will you two be alright?” She asks, not impolitely, but rather bluntly.

“Yeah, we’ll be okay.” Scott says from Stiles’ shoulder. He hits the tv remote for some white noise and is almost startled to see Stiles asleep.

The door clicks shut and Scott eases his best friend off of him, smelling the stale sweat, the weird scent of dried tears and coffee, and onto the couch beside him.

After ensuring that Stiles’ head is comfortably on a pillow and he’s tucked into one of the throw-overs from the back of the lounge, he slinks off into the kitchen with the intent of cooking something edible.

It starts with the fresh food in the pantry, onions and green chillies, before he moves to the fridge, withdrawing whatever he needs for enchiladas. It’s one of the few recipes he could probably make blindfolded, more so now than ever.

He gets so engrossed in his cooking that he doesn’t even realise that Stiles is behind him until he almost knocks the olive oil off the bench and he’s _there._

“Sorry, didn’t realise you were up.” Scott says. Stiles doesn’t look better, not at all. He’s still unhealthily pale and the skin under his eyes sags down under the weight of his regret.

“It’s fine man.” Stiles pulls up one of the chairs and sits, watching Scott as he puts the enchiladas in the oven.

He moves to the sencha tea he _knows_ Stiles keeps here for him along with a teapot that he swears up and down was bought by his Dad, but Scott knows better.

They’re completely quiet in the moments that they wait for the enchiladas, both too lost in thoughts, not the kind ones either. When the oven finally does screech its’ alarm at them, they both jump at the sudden noise.

But as Scott opens the oven, he just pulls the hot tray out. He’s too tired to find an oven-mitt and it’s not like he’ll actually get burnt. It’ll only be a brief thing.

Stiles’ iron grip on his wrist is what stops him from following through with his wish and his friend pushes him gently out of the way and pulls the enchiladas out with a tea towel.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

Stiles’ lips look even paler when pressed into a thin line.

The tea whistles and Scott bumbles around the kitchen, filling up two cups and pouring the boiling water into the polka dot tea pot and adds honey to the mugs.

He joins Stiles at the table with the enchiladas served up onto two plates. Stiles pauses and gestures for him to sit, he’s really not hungry but he knows that if _he_ doesn’t eat, then Stiles won’t either.

So he pulls through and goes through the motions of cutting and swallowing around the lump in his throat.

The tea tastes out of place with the dinner, but what did he expect? Sencha tea and enchiladas don’t go well together.

“You wanna watch Star Wars?”

Stiles’ mouth quirks into the ghost of the smile before he nods quietly.

“I think we should invite Lydia.”

“Sure.” Scott goes for his phone and texts Lydia, she responds with ‘be there’.

Lydia arrives with her own designer bags, wearing sweatpants and a jersey, looking unkempt.

“I hear that there’s Star Wars.” She says simply.

“Scotty _still_ hasn’t seen Star Wars. It hurts me fundamentally.” Stiles puts a hand over his heart dramatically and its’ so off-kilter that Scott laughs.

Ice broken, Scott grabs the popcorn from the microwave and plonks it down on the coffee table for them.

They make it halfway through the movie before Stiles’ constant chatter of his thoughts on the movie stops and he abruptly falls asleep, snuggling into Scott’s side.

He pauses, it feels wrong to continue watching it without him.

Lydia smiles into his other arm, “There’s a lever to your side, Lydia, it’ll turn this into a bed.”

She does as instructed and it springs into the double mattress Scott _knew_ was underneath from many-a-sleepover.

“Goodnight, Scott.” She whispers as she snuggles back into the sheets and pillows.

“Night, Lydia.”

When Stiles wakes up with a jolt, scream on the tip of his lips, Scott shakes his friend until the far-away look in his eyes disappears, bringing life back into them. “I’m a monster, Allison is dead because of me!” Stiles sobs.

Scott racks his brains to think of what to say, but in the end, the words come as naturally as they had the first time he spoke them, “Stiles, you gotta listen to me. You’re not a monster, you’re a human, like Allison was. Her blood is not on your hands. You may not believe it now, but one day, I’m certain you will.”

It’s not what he’s usually says, but Stiles is one of the few humans he comforts nowadays.

Nonetheless, Stiles simply nods, wiping tear tracks from his cheeks. Scott nods, satisfied and Lydia smiles.

It doesn’t matter that they’re too old to be sleeping in the same bed together.

What matters is that they’re _together._


	4. Kira

_ 4. _

Kira Yukimura is his first lover after Allison, and in some ways, she’s bittersweet. 

She’s a badass, but she’s a fox, he a wolf, it isn’t supposed to work. But it does. 

And yet, she’ll have to leave... alive, but still leave. 

Even before he found out that she was a kitsune, he thought she was a badass, and then she helped with saving Stiles and that made her _good_ in his eyes. 

But all of this with Theo and the Dread Doctors…

It’s too much. 

They’ve all read the book, one way or another. It doesn’t matter whether they can’t actually read it or not, it still returns their memories. 

Regardless of whether they want them or not. 

Scott can feel the splinters of his pack breaking into undeniable fissures between them all. 

But Kira, she was the first to fracture. 

He’s made spaghetti for dinner between the two and she twirls it around her fork with deft fingers. 

He’s always been good at cooking for two. He learnt to from Stiles’ mum, back when she had good days. 

And from there, he was always attentive in food tech. Eager to cook for his mother on the days she was too exhausted to. 

Serving lemonade in wine glasses is a little silly, but she deserves _everything._

Especially seeing as this is their last, _ever_ date together. And he wants to savour it. 

So, the dining table is swathed in a scarlet cloth, adorned by one of their crystal vases filled with daisies (he can’t afford a bunch of roses), candles burning. Creating a ‘romantic’ atmosphere. 

“Y’know, you didn’t have to do all of this.” Kira says with a small smile gracing her lips. 

“I know, I still wanted to though.” He smiles back. 

After he’s washed up, he takes her to his room, for the long needed talk he’s been waiting for. 

They’re sitting in his room, they won’t be together for much longer, and it’s with a heavy heart that Scott truly realises this will be the last time they sit together. 

“Scott, I’m so sorry that this is happening, that you’ve been forced into this.” She says, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, “But I think we’ve both known this is a long time coming. The Dread Doctors… they’ve made me do awful things, things I will never be able to atone for. And I want to make it up to you, but I can’t…”

He says nothing, watching the way the fading light lifts out between the darkened sky, speckles of calm before the storm. 

She’ll permanently be leaving. He isn’t even sure whether there _will_ be a way to fix this. 

She was his first after Allison and she made him feel as tingly inside as Allison doe- _did._

But she will never be Allison, and that’s a good thing, because Allison is buried with her hunter family, bow clutched in stiff grip. 

Hopefully this way she won’t have to die to help him in his quest to save everyone. 

They’re all just kids, fucked up by a single mistake from an alpha and if Kira can get away from it all, he encourages it. 

As selfish as it is, if she lives and he never sees her again, there’s a higher chance she’ll survive and live out a happy life. 

_ Away  _ from the things that want to kill her. 

He finally speaks up, voice hoarse from early tears, of throaty cries tearing from his mouth, “It’ll be okay, Kira. If you’re alive and in full control, that’s the only thing that matters to me.”

She places her hands in his, petite but _very_ calloused from her choice of weaponry. “It still doesn’t make it any easier, does it?”

He smiles lightly, “Of course not, but nothing ever is, is it?”

“We were. I remember when you first kissed me and all I could think is, I wanted this. I still want this. Too much has changed.”

“Just remember, Kira, there will _always_ be a place in my pack for you, if you want.” He doesn’t say that his heart will always be for her, because _hers_ might belong to someone else. 

But that’s alright, he’s content. Well, not content with how this has turned out, but it’ll be okay. “Gods, Scott, I’m so sorry that it had to end like this,” she says, voice barely a whisper and yet carrying with the weight of a thousand words, “you must see me as a monster, the things I’ve done…”

Scott chuckles softly, “Kira Yukimura, you listen to me,” voice hardening to steel, “You are _not_ a monster, you’re a _kitsune_ , like your mother. But most importantly, you’re my love. And don’t you dare ever think you’re not.”

She wipes away his tears that he doesn’t remember shedding and smiles, it’s watery and barely there, but it’s still _there._

“Thank you Scott, _thank you._ Never think that you don’t deserve something, because you deserve the _world_.” She says. 

It’s a nice sentiment, but he doesn’t. He thanks her nonetheless and takes her out into the pouring rain, to her car. 

And, well, he _does_ see her again, once more, and he supposes it helps him process the fact that she will be gone. 

And it hurts, badly, but not as much as the complete _unmaking_ afterwards. 


	5. Liam

_5._

Scott hasn’t asked for much in life. Well, that’s not true, he’s always wished that his mother didn’t have to work so much, and he wanted so much more for Stiles.

That they were more well off, that his _father_ would pay child support.

But most importantly, that everyone was _alive._

There’s too many deceased. Even if it were only one, it’s _one too many._

But this… he never asked for this.

Liam rises and attacks him with the ferocity of a wild animal. Scott holds onto that it was Hayden that they were arguing about, only that Liam is ripping out his skin and other important bits and pieces.

( _but oh he remembers, a girl with mercury poison, pushed to the very edge of everything_ )

He’s given up. What’s the fucking point?

He could never kill Liam anyway. It crawls into him in a way that makes him feel _dirty_ , like the way Peter exploited Lydia, Stiles, _everyone._

And he’d never want to end up like the Alpha pack, pack of Alphas, pack of killers.

So, he just sits there and takes it like a good little true Alpha. Isn’t it a cosmic irony that his own beta has to kill him?

And then to ice the cake, Liam escapes and all he can think is _civilians will die, _Liam doesn’t have enough control over his wolf.

Hayden is _gone,_ dead and he feels Liam’s wolf howl in anguish at the loss of his first love.

But later, when everything’s said and done, Theo, gone, Hayden, gone, his pack has been torn to shreds with a burning _ache._

He runs to the preserve without reservation, because if he doesn’t do this, if he doesn’t _right now…_

_ He roars _

Lets the agony of what he’s feeling inside out in a multitude of hoarse growls. He knows the pack will hear it, but he doubts anyone will care. Who will care for the Alpha who failed?

Who will care for the teenager who died oh so long ago?

Nobody, that’s who.

Stiles’ Dad is in hospital but he _will_ survive, Lydia’s stuck in Eichen to his knowledge and who the hell knows where the rest of his pack is.

Exhausted, his chest aches in a way it hasn’t in years, back when asthma was the biggest of his troubles. Even now, asthma is still a likely reality, having been inhaling wolfsbane like a drug deprived junkie.

Watching the stars crawl their way across the inky sky helps him calm down a tad. It’s not like any animals were going to attack him at the moment.

He just hopes the supernatural feel the same.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but it happens and in what feels is like a blink of the eye, Liam stands above him.

Twisting to avoid the inevitable blow, it takes the Alpha a few seconds to realise that no hit has come.

“Scott.” Liam says, softly, eyes raking over his frame. Mason is with him and looking resigned at the fact that they were here of all places, in the middle of the night.

Wincing he tries to rise, realising that with a literal hole in his stomach, it’s probably not a battle he will win.

Liam is there in a second, helping him up despite the fact that this was caused by him.

“What do you want Liam?” He says tiredly, accepting the help, because, there’s no way he’s going to be able to get back home without his beta’s help.

“I just want to say… I’m sorry.” And are those _tears_ in his beta’s eyes?

He huffs out a sigh, “Did you drive here?”

“Yeah.”

“Then can you take me home?”

“Sure.” Liam says, far too eagerly and Scott wonders whether it’s just a façade and he’s waiting for Scott’s guard to be down to land a killing blow. Wow he got cynical in the space of one night.

“Let’s go.” Mason says and joins Liam down next to the alpha.

Mason and Liam’s arms comes underneath his and together they begin to limp back to the car. Scott doesn’t even notice the pain leaving him as they walk until suddenly he doesn’t feel the urge to throw his guts up and his beta is beginning to stumble.

“Liam!” He hisses.

“What?” Liam manages to look innocent, despite the fact that he _knows_ what he was doing, that and he can hear his heart pick up beat.

“Stop taking my pain.”

“I-”

“Don’t you dare say you weren’t. You don’t need to take my pain, okay?” He says fiercely, still walking onward.

Liam is quiet for a few seconds, “It’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“You keep on taking all of our pain, not letting any of us help out despite how much it hurts you.” He looks up, eyes blazing as golden as the sun, “So don’t you dare tell me not to!”

Scott sighs, “Too much pain can kill you.”

“I’d deserve it…” It’s said quietly, but with his ears, _nothing_ is quiet.

He stops walking, Liam stopping with him, “Don’t you… don’t you ever say that again.” He says, dangerously quiet. “I threw you into this life, it’s only my own fault that things turned out this way.”

“But you weren’t the one to tell me to kill you! I would’ve succeeded too!”

“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Theo’s.” Mason says quietly and angrily, “He poisoned the pack in the hopes to tear us apart.”

Scott doesn’t think Liam knows that he _actually_ died. Mason does, he knows that it wasn’t Liam. No, it was the betrayer of the pack, and yet, he was still here due to the miracle performed by his mother.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” And it really doesn’t. He _deserves_ this pain, he’s let down all of his pack.

“It does.” Liam mutters, so Scott switches tact.

“Has Stiles called?”

“Neither of us, no.” Mason says with a shake of the head.

“We gotta get to the hospital then.” Scott says, the Sherriff may very well be dead.

“Scott, you can’t go anywhere in you-”

“I’m perfectly fine. Stiles’ dad could be dying right now and we’re standing around stalling.” He snaps.

“Fine, let’s just go back to get _something_ on your chest.” Liam says pointedly, the red stain being quite prominent against the grimy white shirt.

They make it back quicker than Scott thought they would and Scott directs Liam to their medical cabinet to help put the bandage on his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Scott.” Liam mumbles, looking at the hole in his chest with something like fear in his eyes.

Mason applies antiseptic cream to his chest and he fights the intense urge to flinch away.

“It’s alright, Liam.”

“It’s really not, I’m a monster.” He says, shaking a bit.

Scott almost sighs, noticing Mason move back out of the way, “Liam, look at me. You remember what I said to you in that forest, right?”

Liam nods softly, “I’m not a monster, I’m a werewolf, like you.”

“You are, you are _not_ a monster.” He asserts, unknowingly flashing his eyes.

His phone buzzes and the moment is over.


	6. Scott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lordy lord, we made it in the end y'all, thanks for sticking with me through the months of unactivity. I hope you guys really enjoyed this one, idek why i wrote it, i just have a ton of feels for the pack tbh. Oh yeah, at one stage i considered saying 'wolf-gear' but that's too weeby yikes.

_+1_

There were hunters, not the nice kind, not the kind with cold smiles but warm eyes. Not the kind that waited before shooting whatever supernatural they were dealing with.

The kind that would torture his human best friend for information on _him._

To be honest, he thought Stiles would be safe at the academy, but the phone call… he never recalled his heart beating faster than that moment, he cracked his phone in his fury.

Obviously, it wasn’t up for debate whether they were going to go save Stiles, but Argent still debated the fact that they had no idea _who_ had Stiles, or where.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that they could be torturing him right now.” He growled, eyes flashing. Stiles was his eldest friend and he wasn’t going to let some goddamn _hunters_ take him down.

“Argent is right, Scott.” Derek says, arms tightly crossed. “We need to calm down and think it over.”

He throws his hands through his hair roughly, tugging on the roots. Taking a deep breath, he sighs, “Okay, plan.”

“Well, we know _where_ he was taken.” Lydia says, “I took the liberty of getting the last known location of his phone, which was surprisingly in the middle of town.”

“So that suggests that they don’t care about making a scene.” Mason surmises.

“That or they figure no-one would miss the Sherriff’s son.” Scott says bitterly.

“Okay, Derek, Argent, and I will stake out town, try and catch a scent, you guys stay here in case they come back.” Scott says with the authority he cloaks himself in.

They ended up finding the hunters in an abandoned mine shaft, Stiles chained up on a linked wall, panting and soaked to the bone. He vaguely hears Derek calling for back up _right the fuck now_ before hurling himself at the female hunter with an electric rod in hand.

“We’ve heard a lot about you, Scott McCall. How you’ve brought nothing but pain to the Argent family. We’re here to right that even if the remaining Argent can’t see that.” She says, swinging it around her body with the ease and grace of a ballerina.

He roars and shifts straight into wolf form, leaping at her without preamble, dodging the well-aimed swipe of the baton.

Even as it clips his shoulder, he’s expecting the pain and punches her in the jaw, listening to the satisfying crunch of a shattered jaw.

In the heat of the moment, he registers one of the hunters pulling the trigger of a gun he didn’t notice and Stiles going limp.

Reacting on the anguish, fear, and rage coursing through him, a red haze descends over him as the hunter in charge of the bullet turns to him in fear, reloading, firing.

Distantly he feels his body jerk as it enters his chest, but _he’ll heal._

The hunter certainly won’t.

Ripping into the fleshy throat, he takes grim satisfaction at the wet squelching noise, gore landing in specks across his face, the fear in the seasoned warrior’s face slackening as he goes past the point of no return.

Breathing heavily, he gets up, realising that the remaining hunters were dealt with.

“Stiles.” He murmurs, turning back to where the cavalry has showed up.

But he glances back down to the two bodies. The female is still breathing, not to say that she hasn’t sustained injury, he has a feeling her spine was near severed in his haste to shove her to the ground.

“Hey, Scotty.” It’s extremely faint and he revels in the fact that it’s there, period.

“Stiles!” He limps closer to _his_ human, but he stumbles over the body of the male hunter and he falters.

The man’s eyes are open, unseeing, his head only barely hanging on by a single tendon.

Glancing down at his claws, the world swims around him as he realises the extent of what he has done. Derek crouches down next to him, he hadn’t even remembered getting down next to the hunter.

He should be glad. He killed a hunter, the man who tortured his best friend, and yet all he feels is a hollowness inside his chest.

“Scott, c’mon, let’s leave now.” Derek says and pats his shoulder.

“Stiles.” He murmurs again.

“Malia has him.”

“Okay.” He is faintly aware of following Derek out into the crisp, cool air of Autumn. Why had it turned out like this?

When they arrive, the first thing he does is numbly follow the steps of taking a shower and disposing of his clothes (he’s going to _burn_ them later).

Fishing out the bullet is not so much fun, but a part of him thinks that yes, he deserves this. It doesn’t heal immediately, so he puts a cotton patch over it.

He stumbles down his stairs into the dining room where everyone is gathered. They’re all talking silently and Stiles seems marginally better. Wounds having been fixed by Chris and pain probably taken by somebody.  

“Scott.” Stiles says, a genuine smile on his face despite the fact that he _killed_ somebody. He hadn’t even dared to look at his eyes in fear of what he’d find.

Stiles moves around the table and for a moment Scott thinks he’s about to be hit before he’s enveloped in his friends’ arms. “How you doing?”

He shrugs noncommittally, the doorbell rings and Lydia moves with her usual grace to answer, forking out her card from her purse. “Wha-?”

“Pizza.” Derek says simply, “A lot of it.”

“Malia, come help.” Lydia says, loud enough for the were-coyote to pick up on it.

“Alrighty, take a seat.” Stiles pulls the head of the table out and suddenly they’re all joining him, bringing out plates and soft drinks and he doesn’t _deserve_ this.

“How can you not hate me?” He asks quietly, even as the delicious scent of pizza reaches him and he begins to salivate.

“Well, you were only acting in self-defence and besides, if any of us were in the same position, we’d make the same decision.” Stiles reasons, heaping pineapple pizza on his plate like the heathen he is and meat-lovers onto Scott’s. “Now, eat.”

He looks down at the pizza, appetite roaring back to life and he gulps down the three slices within seconds.

It sinks to the bottom of his stomach like an anchor in the sea and his hands curl a little, “Scott, it’s going to be fine.” Derek assures him from his other side.

He shakes his head, “No, it’s not, Derek. I- I killed that hunter. Didn’t even consider it, I’m a-”

“Scott McCall, if you finish that sentence, I will punch you.” Lydia points a perfectly manicured finger at him from across the table.

Tilting his neck down, he shakes his head again, “Come on, Scott, what was it you always told us? We’re not monsters? Well, neither are you.”

Stiles is right, he always is, and he allows himself to relax, join in on the casual conversation of how their colleges are going and plans for the future.

Scott smiles widely at his assembled pack and in that moment, knows that everything _will_ be okay.

Despite all the shit they’ve been forced through as the by-product of being forced into such a life at a young age, they’re okay, they know how to patch up bullet and cuts and mental wounds. They know how to make a Molotov cocktail, more lore than they ever thought they would have to know (except for maybe Stiles).

At the same time they know the unadulterated happiness of having links connecting them to their _pack._ They know how to really help those who need it and refuse to stand down when someone is to be needlessly sacrificed.

Regardless of what any pack, any hunter says, they know the truth of the matter; they’re not monsters, they’re humans and were-coyotes and banshees and were-wolves, and nothing will ever change that.


End file.
